


Slices of the Absolute's Life

by shigesho



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, High School, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shigesho/pseuds/shigesho
Summary: Snippets of boyfriend-Akashi





	1. When He Appeases Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akashi tries to pacify his fuming girlfriend after telling her off on the short dress she'd worn during dinner.

Seijuro believes himself the absolute, and no one dares question his claim. Not when his academic records are as ridiculously laudable as his performance as point guard in the basketball team. Not when the way his fingers work their harmony on the violin is as elegant as the manner upon which he carries himself as the son and sole heir of the Akashi family. And despite the rigid upbringing, Seijuro knows he wouldn't hesitate to defy his own father should he stand in his way.

Apparently though, Seijuro can't seem to induce the same level of reverence from his girlfriend – his girlfriend who, despite having been acquainted with his domineering tendencies since middle school, and despite being marginally average in nearly every aspect in comparison to him, still considers herself at par with his league. 

Strangely enough, Seijuro finds this quite endearing. And besides, Yanagi Sakura only appears average in light of his phenomenal talents. She is, in fact, an outstanding student. Having topped her class in elementary, she hasn't left the ranks throughout middle school. In high school, she's lifted the bar a notch higher when she joined both the shogi and newspaper clubs – joined and championed the inter-high tournament for the former, and landed the associate editor-in-chief position only in her first year for the latter. She would have entered the piano club as well, but it would mean asking her parents to either have their grand piano repaired or buy her a new keyboard for her practices, neither of which would be practical for the family's expenses. 

These Seijuro finds truly impressive. But what catches him off-guard – and eventually smitten – is Sakura's impartial and blameless heart. She blushed a little when he first asked her out, but she didn't squirm her way all throughout dinner the following night, a night which Seijuro still fondly recalls. She isn't one to easily complain as well, but when he had made her wait too long in the library – five full hours give or take a few minutes – she bluntly told him she'd eat ahead the next time, and probably just head home when she's done studying. And when she learned he was planning to get her a brand new grand piano for her birthday, she promised him she would never speak to him again. She told him later on how much she appreciated the gesture, but also how inappropriate it would be for either of them. And they both came to a peaceful closure on their first serious argument, and sealed it with their first kiss. 

She is, in totality, an amazing girl. And being the amazing girl she is, she just isn't the type to bend to all of Seijuro's bidding. 

So when she flaunts a black, body-hugging mini dress at dinner with the entire Akashi clan, and Seijuro – before either of them could even settle in their seats – drags her to a corner for a word or two of reprimand, she decides she's had enough. He can keep her waiting in the library for hours on school days when he has practice, or have her endure the outrageous dinner dates a decently average girl with average-earning parents can possibly manage, or make her his lone audience for entire weekends as he rehearses nonstop prior to his recitals. He can even count on her to fill in his notes when championship games force him out of his regular classes. 

But this – him telling her off on her dress preference without even considering the favor behind the act, him telling her off when most of his family are within earshot – this she knows she can no longer tolerate. 

Returning the intense gaze nobody else dares to challenge, she takes a full minute to strengthen her resolve. And then she turns toward the entire family, bows a full ninety degrees, and smiles a quiet apology. Before Seijuro knows it, she is gone. 

"Ah, seriously." His voice remains calm despite the silent yet fiery exchange with his girlfriend. Although he admits, nobody but she can get away with refusing dinner with the Akashi clan after accepting, much less after having just arrived. 

He walks toward the edge of the table, adjusts his tie, and bows before his father. 

"I deeply apologize for this, but it seems –" he almost says Sakura, but upholds the formality and resumes, "Yanagi is feeling ill. I must take her home at once." 

His father is clearly displeased, but doesn't stop him. Not that Seijuro can be stopped anyway.  

* * *

 

Despite his overbearing attitude, Seijuro knows how to handle himself properly before people. As a matter of fact, he always endeavors to refine his manners especially when he is facing Sakura's family. 

"I'm sorry for visiting this late," he says with a bow when he arrives at the Yanagis doorstep. It is only a little beyond seven, but he excuses himself regardless. "May I please speak with –" he nearly says Sakura again, but finishes smoothly with, "Yanagi-san?" He can't afford the slightest impertinence with the lady before him. 

Sakura's mother is a decent woman with dark brown hair often braided towards the left. He can see Sakura's eyes in hers, but nothing more. This woman is too soft for Sakura's silent but tough character. 

"Akashi-kun, what a pleasant surprise." Sakura's mother pulls the door wide to welcome the man in what seems to be her entire year's salary's worth of suit and tie. "Please come in." She guides him to the staircase leading up to Sakura's room, all the while thinking how her daughter has managed to crown the heart of such a catch as Akashi Seijuro. "She did tell me she's having dinner with your family. I wasn't expecting her to be home so early." 

"She was suddenly feeling unwell," he says ruefully. "Thank you. Excuse me." With another bow, he ascends. 

He knocks only twice. He doesn't wait to be entertained. He enters her room like he enters his own. 

It is dark and chilly. He can't see anything in the poor illumination, but he knows her too much to know where she tucks herself when she's fuming: by the rooftop beside the chimney. He steps out to her balcony. 

"I was calling you the entire ride here." He knows she's only a few feet above him, but he doesn't look up. He knows the only access to the rooftop is a retractable ladder. He also knows she's pulled it all the way up to prevent anyone from climbing after her. 

When three minutes pass and she still doesn't reply, he sighs, finally looking up. "Yanagi." 

She sits by the ledge, her bare legs dangling in front and her palms planted on the roof beneath her. 

She refuses to meet his gaze, partly because she's still seriously miffed but mostly because despite her fury, his hetero-chromatic eyes never fail to mesmerize her. Crimson on the right, eternally ablaze; and a gleaming tangerine on the left, often warm and dominating. But put together they are simply the loving eyes of Akashi Seijuro – her boyfriend, whom she is presently upset with. "You can drop the formalities, you know," she says. She doesn't sound angry. Tired perhaps. 

But he knows better. "Sakura," he finally says. His voice is alarmingly calm. He has never imagined himself the type to beseech anyone, and with Sakura, her understanding nature has never pushed him to make use of even a pleading tone. 

Today, it seems, would have to be an exception. 

Softly, he begins. "Sakura, it's cold." Slowly. "Please come down." Gently. "And talk to me." 

Sakura is astonished beyond comprehension.  _The_  Akashi is pleading me? The  _absolute_  Akashi? She can't help a knot form in her stomach as she strives to keep her cool. "I am talking to you." 

Still calm. "Do you know why I don't often call you?" 

She's already long accepted the fact that dating this man would entail maintaining an unconventional relationship through unconventional means, which includes not calling or messaging each other regularly like most normal couples do. She doesn't hate it but she also doesn't know why they don't do it. It suddenly makes her wonder what his point was when he told her he'd been calling her earlier. 

There is a smile in his voice when he says, "Because I don't like talking to you when I can't see your face." 

With that, she knows she's done for. And looking into his eyes, melting into his gaze, she is almost consumed with the urge to drop into his arms – almost. She reminds herself why she walked out of an important family dinner, why she had to slip off her heels and catch a speeding cab barefoot just to get home, why she nearly ripped her dress off in her haste to forget the embarrassment her boyfriend put her through, why she's up here in just a shirt and shorts enduring the cold. And she remembers. And she fights with every fiber in her body to resist this alluring, handsome man. 

"Sakura." His calm is becoming more and more frightening by the minute. Does he ever lose his cool? Is he even human? "Sakura, you know I won't leave until you yield." 

This seems to spike her agitation. "Then you don't know me at all."

Seijuro sighs. What a stubborn girl. 

When he averts, his eyes land on a ribboned box sitting by the edge of the balustrade. His brows knit. He can't remember giving her a present recently. And if any man dares to woo her when it is public knowledge that she belongs to him, he swears to make that man lower his head and know his place. 

He reaches for the box. It looks and feels expensive – no, ostentatiously extravagant. Must be a filthy rich bastard. His jaws clench. It is already empty, but there is a note slipped beneath one strip of ribbon. Definitely a suitor – a bold one, undeniably.

 _I hope you don't mind wearing this for me tonight._  
_I want to see how it looks on someone before my showcase._  
_Thankfully, I already know this will perfectly fit you._  
_As expected from Seijuro nii-sama's girlfriend._  

Nii-sama? 

"Ah, I was already in my first dress earlier," Sakura's voice suddenly fills the air, making him look up to her faint smile. "The sort that covered my arms up to my elbows, and flowed down to a little below my knees." She shakes her head a little. "When that suddenly arrived – you never told me one of your cousins is an aspiring designer." 

Seijuro frowns, his murderous thoughts over a possible suitor gone with the wind. "Did I never?" 

"I... can't imagine you agreeing," Sakura says, "to me wearing the dress your cousin designed. I mean, just look at that." She gestures down below, but Seijuro's eyes are pinned on her. "It's impossibly short. And tight. And too black – you know I don't like too much black." 

"Sakura." 

"But this is your cousin, okay? And I don't like to turn her down, not when she sounds so hopeful and expectant. I was doing her a favor, and for you to do that –" 

"Yanagi Sakura." 

She trembles at his voice. And she has to look away. She detests having to argue with him. She detests herself even more for wallowing in her anger. She doesn't want to appear a pouty girlfriend, but she can't help it. She cringes at the memory of her shame, of being told off by her usually collected boyfriend. But in the end, she really can't blame him. 

She knew it would tick him off. She knew and yet she risked it anyway. And now she's sulking over something she already knew was coming. How foolish she is. Ah, if only he had picked her up earlier, he would have already asked her to change while she was still in her house. But he needed to fetch his grandparents, and she had already agreed to just meet him in the Akashi manor. He's brought her there countless times now anyway. And his father is a pleasant companion, albeit detached and occasionally gruff. 

"I'm sorry, Akashi." She sighs wearily. "I want to sleep." 

"Please come down, and I'll put you to sleep." 

"Please don't do this now." The invitation is tempting though. But she is still too annoyed to face him. What will it take for him to leave? 

And it occurs to her she doesn't have to come down to claim her sleep. She knows she's a statue in her slumber. She only has to fold her legs, wrap her arms around them, and rest her head over her knees. 

And she does. 

It takes her less than a minute to drift off to dreamland. But just as she thinks she can finally get away with him, a loud thud jerks her fully awake. 

She raises her gaze, and Seijuro is clutching the gutter with one hand. 

"What the –" 

Only half a second passes, time enough for Sakura to gape, for now Seijuro is crouched in front of her, his hand still on the gutter, his other arm atop one folded leg. His other knee rests on the roof for balance. How he managed to do that, she can't begin to imagine. All she can process at the moment is how dangerously close he is, his shadowed eyes impossible to read. 

"A...kashi..." 

"You forget this height is nothing for me," he says, and she can almost hear the chuckle in his voice. And why shouldn't he be amused? He isn't the tallest in his team, but he is captain – the first ever first year to be appointed in the history of Rakuzan High's invincible basketball team – for a reason. If he can dunk a ball at three meters, surely he can swing himself up by the gutter with ease. 

She sighs, defeated. She will apologize for her misbehavior, just as he expects. She will tell him she won't do it again, just as he expects. And she will try to make amends to his family, just as he expects. 

She is set to swallow whatever was left of her pride. So when she parts her lips to speak, and Seijuro cuts her off with a gentle hand over her own, all sense of coherency instantly shatters. 

"Sakura." 

Can a single word actually drive a person insane? She knows she hasn't gone crazy hearing her name before, but the way Seijuro says it sets a fire in the pit of her stomach, as if meant to consume the millions of butterflies fluttering therein only moments ago. 

And as though that wasn't cruel enough, he gives her a most loving gaze she reckons only his mother probably ever witnessed. His eyes have melted into an odd mixture of apology and concern and remorse – she can't explain it. She only knows she can't stand it a second longer. 

"It was rude of me," he says, leaning forward to collect her other hand. His skin is warm and hard, calloused perhaps from years of mastering both the violin and the ball. "I still don't approve of you wearing such skimpy clothing, but I truly am sorry. I will apologize to my cousin on your behalf as well. And I won't force you to forgive me, and I will respect and accept it completely if you still want me to leave." 

Leave? Who said anything about leaving? Is he challenging her to break up with him? Or is he pertaining only for tonight? 

He must have read the sudden panic in her eyes, because he smiles and closes their distance to kiss the crown of her head. "Calm yourself, love." He cants away to watch her cheeks flush a beet red. He knows she's both relieved and embarrassed, and only a tad bit annoyed. "I'm not hinting at a breakup." 

The comment makes her bite on her lip, her face already in flares. Of course she no longer wants him to leave – after all that. Or has he also predicted it would turn out like this? That despite her agitation, she would end up forgiving him this easily? She can't tell. This man, when it comes to deciphering stuff, is just inhuman. 

The way Seijuro has turned the tables around only makes her more embarrassed. And suspicious. And despite not wanting him to go away anymore, she takes a stand. 

She doesn't relinquish his hold, but she evens her voice when she finally retrieves her sanity and tells him what she wants – or what she thinks she wants anyway. 

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," she says. Her words are rushed, and she doesn't care. Surely that was already a very cordial and subtle way of telling him to leave, without any hint of a breakup of course. 

Without hesitation, Seijuro complies. He gives her hands a light squeeze before turning towards the gutter and gliding gracefully to his descent. She listens to the fading sound of his footsteps. And then, absolute silence. 

* * *

 

The clouds have gone and the moon has risen. Across the horizon the stars are overwhelmed, some of them disappearing behind the moon's bright glory. 

And Yanagi Sakura has been gawking at the scenery for half an hour now from the time Seijuro left. 

She has completely recovered from her ill feelings. She feels light-headed from the cold, but she thinks it's a good, emancipating feeling. Her lids have been attempting to drop completely for a while now, too. She decides it's finally time to hit the sack. 

As she sets the ladder back into place, she thinks about going to the Akashis first thing tomorrow morning. She did say she would speak to him tomorrow – she just hasn't told him the possibility of it being at daybreak. 

Or she can resort to calling him if visiting would seem too eager. Ah, but he said he doesn't like talking to her if he can't see her face. And although that was obviously flattering, she doesn't want it to be a probable cause of another argument. 

Slowly, she finally descends. She hops on her last step, yawning and stretching. She peeks inside her dark room. At least Seijuro wasn't evil enough to lock her out. But then again, even if he was, he wouldn't do it for the sake of his pride. Besides, it would have been too childish. And Akashi Seijuro is many things, but he is never childish. 

As her room is too dark to read the clock, she hauls out her phone from her pocket to check the time instead. Just a few minutes past eight. Too early to feel particularly exhausted. Damn, sulking and being upset seem to wear her out exceedingly. All she can think about is sleep, which is good actually, for if she retires the night early, she can greet tomorrow early as well. And the sooner she can speak again with Seijuro, the better it should be for her mental and emotional conditions. 

It appears though, as she saunters for her bed, that her eyes are playing tricks on her. Or is it only her drowsiness creating illusions? She rubs her sockets with the heels of her palms. 

What the  _hell_  is  _Akashi_  freaking  _Seijuro_  still doing in her room, sitting on her couch like a boss, one leg crossed over the other, his arms locked over his chest, his head ducked low enough to shadow half his face, and his bearings completely... vulnerable? 

"A...kashi...?" 

He doesn't stir, and she's on the verge of believing him a ghost. She takes two cautious steps forward, hardly breathing. And then another, and another, until she is standing right in front of him, until she is looking down at him. 

She didn't feel it on the rooftop earlier; her sulking must have clouded her mind. But it suddenly feels so wrong – viewing him from above. She drops to her knees, quietly as to not disrupt his sleep, for he does appear to be in slumber. Without touching him, she lifts her gaze to finally see his face. 

His adorable sleeping face. 

She gasps. How can  _the absolute_  look this irresistibly cute? His slow breathing heaves his chest up and down, his square shoulders rising and falling accordingly. His scarlet fringe casts a pinkish glow to his cheeks, and for a fleeting moment she feels envious. She bites back a laugh. She resists the lethal urge to caress his face and pinch his cheeks and play with his nose, his eyes, his lips, his ears. Seijuro will probably kill her if she attempts any of those. 

As she stares him down, she begins to realize one thing about his absolute authority. She has always wondered how his seniors are able to stomach him as their captain. It's true his plays are incredibly accurate, being the perfect point guard. But to become captain in his first year... 

She has always felt it herself, the way Seijuro handles her and cherishes their relationship. He is simply reliable beyond compare. People can only trust someone when that someone has repeatedly met and perhaps exceeded their expectations. That trust comes naturally then, and in a sport where trust can either build or break the team, Seijuro stands alone as the most capable and most trustworthy captain. And that's on top of being an academic topnotch, a musical prodigy, and an able heir to one of Kyoto's most distinguished families. 

But it is exactly because of this that he keeps such a straight face. He has continuously fortified his demeanor to never show weakness. He can claim he's doing it for himself, but she knows, somewhere deep inside, he's doing it for the people around him. She knows, because he's doing it for her, too. 

He's doing it now. 

She snorts. "Akashi, you idiot." 

Having had enough of her musings, she rises to her feet, grabs a muffler from a wooden peg, and wraps it around Seijuro's neck. She takes note of his outfit and, feeling a little shy, she reaches for his tie, slackens the knot as gently as her hands can manage, and finally slips it off from choking his throat. 

She sets the tie neatly atop her study table before fetching a second muffler and coiling it around her neck. 

What is a comfy bed when Akashi Seijuro is sleeping on her couch? 

Of course there's no telling if she'll still be alive by morning when Seijuro realizes what she's done. But this moment is too precious for her. So she takes a seat beside him and wills herself to sleep – except, she's too nervous to even relax. The pounding of her heart is deafening in her ears, and she knows the organ has risen up to her throat. She thinks of leaning on his shoulder, but she fears her trembling would finally wake him up. And then where will she be? 

She sighs. If she wants to sleep beside him, she'll have to sleep like she usually does – like a statue. And she'll have to command her body to awaken before he does, just in case he'll go berserk. 

The moment she closes her eyes, she feels the calm slowly take over. She nearly smiles. 

"Don't open your eyes." 

Her heart is instantly back up her throat, and she almost disobeys. The enormous effort she puts into sealing her lids is agonizing, but she endures. She really did wake him. 

Seijuro seems to relinquish his seat. She hears a little shuffling, but she can't tell what he's really doing. She expects him to leave, but his weight is back on the couch beside her in an instant. The next thing she feels is her legs being covered. Ah, he's rid himself of his coat to warm her legs. Her cheeks warm as well and she can't be more thankful for the darkness. 

Seijuro's hand is suddenly on her head. Her breath hitches, and she stops breathing altogether when he pulls her to rest on his shoulder. 

"I take this as you having forgiven me," he mumbles into her ear, making her shiver in anxious delight. Regardless, her lips widen to a cheeky grin. 

Seijuro seems to have sensed it. He breathes his own chuckle before sliding his hand down her side and locking his arm securely around her waist. 

"Sleep, love." 

Sakura snuggles closer. "Yes. Good night, Akashi." 

"Seijuro," he says. "Just Seijuro." 

She knows though that he knows she addresses him informally in her mind, and that he's just being considerate. "Hm." 

Fatigue washes her all over again. But this time she's certain of a good night's sleep, without having to worry of what tomorrow may bring, and with the added bonus of Akashi Seijuro beside her. The last thing her mind registers before finally surrendering to sleep is Seijuro's sweet, soft lips pecking hers. 

* * *

 

**(c) shigesho**


	2. When He Takes Care of Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akashi initially tolerates a truant girlfriend but finally decides it's time to take matters into his own hands.

Because it's the first time Seijuro has been ditched by his girlfriend, Rakuzan High's basketball team experiences practice five times more severely rigorous than the norm – the norm being already severely rigorous to begin with. Friday afternoons are supposed to be light for the players, an intended break before the imminent hell they are to face on Saturdays.

But the redhead captain has other things in mind. Or rather, he deems it a need to physically preoccupy himself, lest he'll go permanently insane.

Sakura didn't show up for lunch earlier. He only shares elective classes with her on certain days, and Friday isn't one of those days. But whether she was held up abnormally long for her last morning class, or was supposed to report abnormally early to her first afternoon class – or both, it was not a valid excuse to ditch him on the only day in the entire week that they're scheduled to have lunch together. At the very least, he expects her to give him a heads up should she fail to make an appearance. For isn't that what he does whenever he knows he can't have lunch with her?

He would leave his class immediately after the parting bow, proceed to Sakura's classroom, wait patiently for her by the corridors, (garner a few silent squeals and muffled gasps from the lady passersby because really – what is Rakuzan's team captain doing by the corridor, leaning against the open windows, allowing the waft of fresh air to ruffle his fringe like a damn model in the midst of a photo shoot, and looking absolutely stunning in his pair of lazy, di-colored pupils?), straighten up only when she finally exits the room, and smile before informing her he can't have lunch with her.

And when he would sense her disappointment to be a little bit more than what she lets up, he would offer to make it up to her – and this he never fails to do either, even when most of the time he would have to involve her parents, too, by way of gaining their permission because she hesitates to fine-dine with him.

He ought to know her inside out by now. He'd already known too much about her before he even popped the million-dollar question. But this is just beyond him.

It scrapes his skull as roughly as he dunks the ball over two of the tallest men in his team. When he lands and sees the terrified looks of his players, he recognizes he's gone overboard, perhaps a little too much.

But he puts the circumstance to good use anyhow.

"If I can get past the both of you like that," he says, "then we may have a problem in our future games. Height isn't everything after all."

"Yes," purrs Nebuya Eikichi, center and power forward of the team. Despite his staggering height, he feels diminished before the infallible point guard. Even his huge muscles appear strained in light of Seijuro's episode.

Mibuchi Reo, shooting guard and vice-captain, flicks his wrist gracefully in what seems to be his gesture of apology. "Guess we'll have to make up for it in the second half, huh."

But before the two six-feet-or-so regulars can sprint to the other half of the court for a comeback, Seijuro calls off the practice. There is no point exhausting them now if they'll be thrice as exhausted the following day.

"Everyone's rest is most essential for now," Seijuro suddenly announces. He ignores the look exchanged between Nebuya and Mibuchi. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Relieved though slightly perturbed with their captain's actions, the Rakuzan players retire to their lockers and eventually leave one after the other.

Seijuro waits until the court is empty. His teammates don’t usually linger after practice. If anything, they would all disappear in exhaustion not more than two minutes from the time they’re dismissed. It must be the game interrupted at half time.

When he’s all alone and back in his uniform, he hauls out his phone to finally dial her digits. The steady ringing echoes in his ears. Now she can finally explain herself. Now he can finally put his mind to rest. She must have a good explanation for her insolence. And this Seijuro intends to squeeze out of her – no matter what.

_"Hi! I can't answer now but leave a message after the beep?"_

If digital phones had feelings, Seijuro's would definitely be quivering in fear underneath his cold, angry gaze.

So it wasn't just lunch. She won't answer his calls, too. Blood boiling beneath the pleasant countenance, Seijuro makes a quick visit first to the newspaper club, then to the shogi club – both to no avail. His last hope would be the music room.

It is when he is greeted with nothing but hollow darkness by the Music and Arts building that he concludes she's not in campus. She may never have gone to school at all.

He steps out of the main gate. He looks up at the dotted evening sky. He laughs internally and manages to breathe it out to a mere snort. How could he have missed it? How could he have allowed his mind to entertain such shameless conclusions? How could he – in all his omniscient glory – not know early on? He is astonished as much as he is disgusted.

He speed-dials one of his family's butlers and in exactly forty-five seconds, a black limousine hums to a halt before him. He breezes inside gracefully, nodding once at the wary driver.

"Good evening, Akashi-sama."

"Yanagi Sakura's place," he orders coolly; the butler is almost deceived into thinking his master is in a pleasant mood. Then yet again, whichever mood Seijuro is in, his demeanor would always remain tranquil, impenetrable, perfect. Regardless, the butler is deeply baffled when Seijuro asks him to drop by a convenience store by the next block.

"Do you need anything, Sir?" The butler steps on the pedal. Seijuro is never thought of as someone who associates with the mundane and the common. And for him to suddenly yearn a visit to one of the most common places to perhaps buy mundane things, he must be in quite a situation.

"Your thinking is incorrect," Seijuro says snappily. "True the convenience store is common, but so is any other place if you come to think of it. It all boils down to purpose." He shoots a fiery gaze through the rear view. "As for the mundane..."

The hairs along the butler's nape stand on end. He doesn't wait for the master to finish his thoughts. "Forgive me, Akashi-sama."

Seijuro smiles, but it is far from friendly.

The butler thinks of volunteering to buy whatever it is his master wishes, but Seijuro is stepping out before he could formulate the right words. Only a minute passes when the young Akashi returns in the backseat.

"Please proceed."

There is a hint of sentimentality when the butler replies. "Yes, Sir."

Seijuro understands. And he's uncertain if he should be moved his butler seems genuinely concerned, or irate that this simple man – a middle-aged peasant who is only ever able to feed his family and send his children to a decent school because of the Akashi family's extended kindness – has deduced the matter so much faster than he did.

Seijuro's mind is suddenly escorted to a flipping recollection of the times he's brought Sakura to the Akashi manor. She is apparently impressed with his family's affluence, and it doesn't change no matter the repeated acquaintance. But she keeps it at that. She is impressed but she is never mesmerized. She respects it but doesn't yearn for it, the extravagance.

She admires him but she doesn't – and will probably never idolize him.

And it is this impartiality of her heart that allows her to connect with most of the Akashi manor's workforce. Seijuro knows each one who serves the family: security, household keepers, cooks, drivers, all of them. But for someone outside the family to suddenly pay them attention, to look straight into their eyes and bother asking for their names, and bother even further by memorizing those names to match their faces the next time she visits, it's a feat afforded only by genuine people who want to make genuine connections, regardless of one’s status in society.

Seijuro can only conclude this to be the reason behind the butler's sentimentality. Some time ago, Sakura must have spoken to this butler. She must have formed a genuine conversation with this servant. She must have reached out to this peasant as a real friend. The thought draws a tiny smile across Seijuro's lips. 

* * *

 

“I’ve known you for years, Akashi, and you’ve never appealed to me the type to tend to the sick.”

Sakura’s words are slurred through the wooden door to her room. She refuses to let Seijuro in, or she’ll die of embarrassment. She claims she doesn’t even look human in her present condition, and that the sight of her may force him to question his taste in women.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call you.” She sniffs. “Too tired to search for my phone. I’ll call you as soon as I’m better, okay?”

“Sakura.”

“Good luck in tomorrow’s practice. Though I know you never need luck.” She half-laughs, half-snorts.

Seijuro twists the knob. “I’m coming in.”

“You can’t –“

She pulls the comforter over her head. Of course she’s not shocked he has a key to her room. She contemplates attaching a triple latch which can only be opened from the inside and has no keys. But of course he can climb her balcony and enter from the glass door. Or better yet, he can just command her to open the door for him.

For a brief moment she forgets her delirium when she hears Seijuro’s footsteps nearing. They stop by her bedside.

She groans, wishing for the ground to swallow her. “Akashi.”

“Say that again.” His tone is even. Unreadable.

“What?” Sakura suddenly feels the edge of her bed sink under his weight.  _Sweet mother of –_  “Okay, okay. You can do whatever you want, but you can’t see my face.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t see.” He shifts more comfortably beside her. “Sakura.”

“Akashi –“

“Seijuro.”

She gulps. Ever since he told her to call him by his first name, she’s been avoiding having to call him by his name at all. The permission he’s given her is beyond intimate, but she fears her face will explode from too much heat. She likes it – heck, she addresses him however the hell she wants in her head. But not as much as it makes her shy.

“Sakura.”

She bites her lip. “Yes?”

“I want to see you.”

“Please, Akashi –“

“Seijuro.”

She sighs. Might as well take advantage of her already heated-up face. “Sei…”  _Dear heart, please calm down._ “…juro…”  _God, this isn’t rocket science._ “…kun.” She swears her fever spiked up at least ten degrees higher.

But all apprehension leaves her body when she feels a smile grace Seijuro’s lips when he speaks again. “Just Seijuro.” Her own lips curve up to a smile.

Nonetheless, she’s probably the only girl who wishes not for the presence of her boyfriend when she’s sick. And she can’t have his rare sweetness distract her from her main problem, especially that she got sick for such a lame reason. “Will you at least not let me disgrace myself further by allowing me to hide my face while you’re still here?”

His reply is a dismissive grunt, which, in Seijuro’s language, also means ‘not a chance’.

An idea suddenly lights up in her head. “Can you really risk being here, completely vulnerable to my contagious illness, when you have practice tomorrow?” She squeezes the hem of her comforter tighter, wishing for a miracle. If she had anything to count on, it would be Seijuro’s sense of responsibility. He is never unreliable. He is never undependable.

But then her hope deflates. Because Seijuro is also never irresolute.

“I can’t drag your fever down if I can’t cool your head.” He sounds so troubled that Sakura nearly tears up. “And I can’t cool your head if you don’t uncover your face.”

_Akashi Seijuro, you clever idiot._

She gives herself thirty seconds of heavy breathing before finally surrendering. Lips pursed and lids shut, she slowly lowers the comforter. When the thick garment reaches her neck, she risks a peek with one eye. And she instantly regrets it.

The fact that  _the_ Akashi Seijuro – along with his jaw-droppingly gorgeous features and eternally hypnotizing dual-colored eyes – is here on her bed and barely at arm’s length has set a record high on her fever. And the realization that he is determined to take care of her – at least until he deems it fine to let her be – has her swearing she’s never going to recover at all.

Seijuro’s hand is suddenly stretched across her forehead. She skips a heartbeat. His touch lingers, and she forces her mind to wander off before her insanity becomes permanent.

His palm is so wide; he can probably cover her entire face. No wonder he can grasp a ball so effortlessly. And his fingers are slender and careful, and quite amusingly calloused by the joints. She tries to determine which hand it is. Left. Ah, the violin. She wonders if he can play other instruments apart from the violin. If he can’t, she wonders how long it must take for him to master another. Seijuro has always been excellent. He never slacks around. If he can dedicate enough time on something, it won’t be long before he can perfect it. Perhaps if he attempts to learn the piano, he will likely surpass her in no time.

He is even exemplary in his academics. And Sakura knows he never leaves the top ranks despite rigorous basketball practice. How amazing can he get, really?

Her trance is momentarily interrupted by his words. “When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

Perhaps it is the underlying care embedded in his question, or the raw concern screaming silently in the tone of his voice, but Sakura’s cheek is suddenly warm where one tear streams down.

“Sakura?”

She bites back a laugh. She can shut him off all she wants, but she can never doubt his affections. Why should he even bother when he has all these more important stuff weighing down his shoulders? Surely, she ought to mean a lot to him.

She hears him sigh. “If it troubles you too much, I’ll grant your wish and leave. But not until you’ve had one proper meal and your head feels a little cooler.”

She chortles then. She has to. She rubs her tears dry before opening her eyes fully. Seijuro’s expression is priceless. And she just has to tease him. “And here I thought you knew everything.”

His brows twitch and his arms lock over his chest.

She rolls her eyes, reaching over to unlock his arms and lace her fingers with his. Something about the way he’s allowing himself to be caught unawares makes her bold. “I’m saying thank you,” she swallows before finishing, “Seijuro.”

He keeps a straight face when he answers. “You’re always welcome.”

But it only makes her laugh. “You don’t have to put up such a rigid face when you’re with me, you know. I know you don’t know everything.”

The silent reply makes her anxious. Did she anger him? Has she crossed the line? Ah, what has she done now?

Seijuro cranes his neck up, and she nearly begs him not to get mad, until she sees the contemplation apparent in his face. He seems to gather his thoughts, and when he looks at her again, his lips are bordering a smile. “It’s just you, Sakura.”

“Eh?”

“I don’t like it.” He disengages from her touch to reach for her bedside table. Her gaze follows his hands and settles on a small basin she’s certain wasn’t there earlier. He pulls out a cloth, wrings it free of water and presses it on her forehead. He tucks strands of her hair behind her ear and smiles. “But I don’t dislike it, either.”

He’s done it now. Sakura rests an arm over her eyes. “I swear I will never recover.”

“You will,” Seijuro says. “You forget I’m always watching whenever you wheedle your way into having our cook teach you her tricks.”

She gasps, realizing the implication. She uncovers her eyes. “You’re not…“

Seijuro rises. “Your mother has given me permission to use your kitchen.” He heads for the exit, pauses by the door. “Do me a favor and try not to heat up too much in my presence. I don’t want to have to resort to sending in a family nurse to take care of you instead.”

* * *

 

Exactly twenty minutes have passed but Sakura’s breathing is still irregular. How can Seijuro be so blunt? He should have granted her the benefit of the doubt. And here she thought he was a perfect gentleman. And to tease her like that –

She screams into her pillow. She hates overreacting. And she has nothing to blame for her misconduct but her ill health. Still, it’s unforgivable. To be too transparent to the one man she’s been trying to shield her inner self from – at least with respect to the real depth of her affections for him. She can’t have him thinking she’s obsessed. She simply admires him, and it just so happens that she likes him, too. And, a little too miraculously, he likes her back. Of course she’s expected to suffer bouts of lunacy.

She jerks back to reality when she hears the door creak. She commands herself to calm down. She forces her mind to enter a void. She can’t cause him any more trouble than she already has.

This time Seijuro grabs a chair to settle on. He places the tray atop the bedside table.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little dizzy, I think.” She attempts to lift herself on her elbows, but they are too wobbly. They give way – into Seijuro’s strong arms.

“Careful,” he says as he supports her shoulders and helps her up to a proper sitting position. “You’ve been sick since Wednesday and you never even told me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she counters instantly. She’s being told off again, and he has every right to. It doesn’t diminish her agitation, though. “And I didn’t think it would last this long anyway.”

He directs her gaze to his with a hand on one side of her face. He makes sure he has her full attention before speaking. “Sakura.” He adds a hint of plea to his words. “Please listen to me. I have so many things to be responsible for and I am absolutely certain I can handle them all. But with you, I can never be certain. I’ve proven that tonight. You got me parading all over campus like a lost child searching for someone who wasn’t even there. And here I find you burning with fever for the third day. It almost makes me ill myself.”

“Akashi –“

“And you still won’t call me by my first name.” A wild glint passes through his scarlet and tangerine eyes. It’s too fast she could be imagining it. But he leans in closer, dangerously, tauntingly, his cool breath caressing her face. His kindness has completely vanished. “I am running out of patience and it is only your fever stopping me from kissing you right now until my name is forever plastered on your lips.”

Sakura leans back, her spine flattening against the headboard. “A-are you threatening me?”

Seijuro smirks. “Is it such a threat to be kissed by me?”

“No, of course not.” She frowns. “I mean, if you put it that way, it seems…”

His face evens and he averts. He fetches a bowl from the tray and stirs the hot porridge with a spoon. “Where is your confidence in me that you think I can afford to threaten you?”

“What…” Her panic is automatic. “No, I don’t mean it that way. I’m sorry, I –“

“Hush, love.” Seijuro’s sweet smile is back. He lifts the bowl closer to her. “I need you to be well. Please eat.”

The spoon is inches from her mouth, and she almost devours it. She’s famished, for one. And she can smell all the herbs perfectly concocted with the porridge – a feat perhaps only cooks in the Akashi family can perfect. But she also believes she needs to lay her thoughts down before him. She’s grown accustomed to his erratic personality shifts, but she knows the shift just moments ago held something more. He may never tell her, but he is still human, a human like everybody else who isn’t immune to pain. She could be overthinking, but overthinking she can afford if it means saving him from the pain of misinterpreting her.

Slowly, she clasps Seijuro’s wrist, dips the spoon into the bowl and settles the porridge back on the tray. And then she takes his cool hands into her warm ones.

She begins with a deep breath. “Seijuro.” The flutters in her stomach haven’t improved. She persists. “I don’t want to tell you this, but you’re bound to know anyway, so I’m coming in clean. But don’t get mad, okay?”

His lack of response is expected.

“I was waiting for you to finish practice last Wednesday, but I didn’t wait in the library. Yes, I know you told me to go ahead, but I didn’t want to miss such a special night.” His perplexed look nearly exhausts her. “Ah, are you really going to make me say it?”

“I don’t understand. Did I fail to tell you we are celebrating on Sunday?”

She sighs. “Yes, I know that. But it’s different on the actual day, you see.” She heaves another breath. “Anyway, I waited by the field so I’d see you when you’re done. I thought you were far from dismissal, so I walked towards the next block to buy a candle. But when I returned, the court was already empty. You’d gone home and I wasn’t able to give you your cake and I wasn’t even able to call you for a greeting. I was too cold by the time I got home.” She tries to hide her nervous chuckle by squeezing his hands. “I know, it’s lame but…”

“Who, in their right mind, would wait by the field in a biting cold December night?” He doesn’t sound as angry as his words suggest. “And I know you never put anything on top of your uniform coat. What exactly were you thinking?”

“I… I don’t know, I’m sorry. I guess I was just trying to make your day a little special?” The way she squirms beneath her own words tells him she’s never gone out of her way for anyone else’s birthday. “I didn’t even realize it was that cold until… you know.”

Seijuro lifts a pair of intertwined hands to press his head. “Sakura, how can I make it up to you?”

Make it up to her? “What?” Is she hearing him right? “I didn’t say it was your fault. Please don’t get me wrong, Aka – Seijuro. I brought this upon myself and I was too embarrassed to tell you. I still am. But please don’t think it’s your fault.”

“No, I’m not thinking it’s my fault.” He smiles weakly. “But it’s still because of me. There’s a difference.”

“I’m not sure I understand, but really, there’s nothing to worry about. In fact,” she considers her head, “I don’t feel so sick anymore.”

“I can’t trust the opinion of someone who can’t even tell how cruel the weather already is.” He releases her hands and fetches the bowl of porridge. “Now eat before this gets cold, too.”

Sakura can’t help getting flustered as her boyfriend feeds her. She just wishes he won’t point it out to her again. When they’re done, he pours her a glass of water and checks her temperature.

“You’re better.” He smiles. “I’m glad.”

She can only nod in response.

“I want to stay but I can’t. Please call me as soon as you can tomorrow. And then I’ll fetch you on Sunday afternoon.”

She nods again, this time with a smile.

He tucks her neatly beneath her quilt and leans over to kiss her forehead. “Sleep well.”

The smile doesn’t leave her lips as her gaze trails behind him. He saunters for the door and flicks off the light. She almost thinks it was worth it getting sick. But then she remembers the embarrassment and she mentally slaps herself for being so foolish.

Outside, Seijuro is greeted by his butler with a coat.

“Thank you. Let’s head home.”

The butler bows, opens the door for his master and secures himself in the driver’s seat. “If it’s not too intrusive, Akashi-sama, may I inquire of Yanagi-sama’s condition?”

Seijuro looks at him pointedly through the rear view. “Sakura is better, and I have all the mundane things I’ve bought from a commoner’s store to thank for.” He smiles, this time a bit friendlier. “Thank you for asking.”

The butler nods pleasantly.

And now Seijuro has the practice for tomorrow to worry about – for it is sure to be interrupted with a foolish birthday surprise. There’s no wonder Nebuya and Mibuchi seemed panicked at the early dismissal, and why the rest of the team seemed reluctant to leave. It seems to him he wasn’t alone in his preoccupation earlier.

He shakes his head. Tomorrow might be interesting.

But not as interesting as today. He hauls out his phone to send Sakura a message. He may not know everything when it comes to her, but he does know the possibility of her fever returning as soon as she reads it.

 _“No sickness can diminish your beauty, love. But do take care.”_  

* * *

 

**(c) shigesho**


End file.
